Again and Again
by PeaceLoveNINJA
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Alex is temporarily stuck in a wheelchair. Perfect. Tenth year is stressful, and the bank is driving him absolutely insane. Just when he thinks things couldn't get any worse, life has to go and prove him wrong. Again.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.

Alex took the steps two at a time.

He had escaped from the basement by knocking out a guard with the chair he had been tied to, using that same chair to smash the locking mechanism, and sprinting up the staircase while frantically searching for an exit. So far, no luck. An alarm blared through the building, but Alex paid it no heed- why should he? He knew the alarm was for his sake; someone must have spotted him and activated the alarm. His legs were starting to tire, and he almost tripped on a stair. He wasn't wearing shoes; they were taking when he was captured, along with all of his possesions. Every step he took jarred his knees and ankles, but thankfully he was still indoors, so there weren't any thorns or rocks.

At the next flat platform there was a door. It looked as if it blended into the wall and Alex almost ran straight past it. As it were, his hand flailed out and smacked the handle- rather hard, in fact, his hand was throbbing and a trickle of blood ran between his second and third fingers. He immediately turned the handle, and then cursed. It was locked, why wouldn't it be? This time, he didn't have his trusty sidekick- a wooden chair- to smash it for him. He doubted the chair would work, anyway. This lock looked much sturdier. He felt around the door and deduced there was no way in. He would have to get going soon if he didn't want to be caught. He slumped his shoulders in defeat, but mentally steeled himself for the mad dash up the stairs. He was about to take off when the door was thrown open from the inside, hitting him in the back of the head. It hurt like no other, but he had no time to dwell on the pain. He immediately pulled the door the rest of the way open, grabbed the man inside by the collar, thrust him in the threshold and slammed the heavy door on him. Alex cringed when he heard a crunch and a strangled cry from the man, but pushed him away, slipped into the room, and closed and locked the door.

Panting, Alex took a quick inventory of the room: it appeared to be an office. There was a mahogany desk against the right hand wall and a bookcase on the other. There was a grey carpet and cream colored walls. Very nondescript. The sound of the alarm was very diminished and Alex found himself relaxing and strolling over to the desk, giving his heart rate some time to calm down. On the desk, there was a basket and some files. In the basket there was a watch, an iPhone, and a pair of trainers, among other things. With a jolt, Alex realized they were all his; they had been confiscated when his cover was blown. He gingerly reached into the bowl and pulled out the watch, turning it over and pulling off the back. Underneath was a button to signal MI6, which he immediately pressed. He quicky pulled his shoes on, despite his lack of socks, and shoved the iPhone in his pocket. He noticed a granola bar on the other side and hurriedly unwrapped it, shoving it into his mouth. He hadn't been fed while he was captured, so even though the granola bar tasted like cardboard, he ate it ravenously.

Alex was still chewing the granola bar when he heard shouts. He cursed, which caused food to spew from his mouth. He desperately looked around for any exits other than the door. His eyes fell on the window. He quickly strapped on his backpack from the basket and as a last minute thought shoved some files in it from the desk. With one last glance toward the door, he unlatched the window. A sudden wave of heat hit him, he had forgotten how hot it was here. He took one last deep breath and crawled through, his whole body protesting, hand and head still smarting from their… ah… encounter with the door. He knew that he was about seven stories up, but wouldn't let that shake his resolve.

He started inching his way down the building. Thankfully, the building had a jagged surface- it looked like it had been haphazardly thrown together with bricks about seventy years ago. It was a stark contrast to the inside of the building. While the outside looked quaint and sloppy, the inside was cold, clinical, and very modern.

As Alex made his way down the building he placed his feet and hands meticulously. One wrong move and he would plummet to the street below, breaking several bones, if not dying, in the process. A bead of sweat ran down his face. Right hand, left hand, left foot right foot. Over and over. Alex reached a window and some part of his brain wondered why he hadn't seen it in his earlier escapade. Perhaps there was a hidden door. He was tempted to try and go in, but his sense of self-preservation overruled his curiosity.

Right hand, left hand, left foot, right foot. Alex was now about 5 stories above the ground. Right hand, left hand, left foot, right foot. He was glad he had found his shoes. Without them, his feet would probably be bleeding by now. Mrs. Jones said there would be an extraction team within a thirty mile radius, and Alex had contacted MI6 about ten minutes ago. He could only hope she wan't lying like was so often the case.

Right hand, left hand, left foot, right foot. Three stories. It was funny how adrenaline worked. Not too long ago, Alex's heart had been racing, his mind scrambled, breath coming in short gasps. Now, he was perfectly calm, even though he was in a more perilous situation. He even had time for irrevelant thoughts: his hand hurt, his head hurt. The small rivulet of blood snaking its way down his arm. He had some granola bar stuck in his teeth. What could be in those files. That girl he ran into a couple days ago- that's probably how he blew his cover. Stupid hero complex. At the moment, he was immensely grateful Ian had taken him rock climbing. Right hand, left hand, left foot, ri-

…Falling. Mocking. Fear. Thud, snap, blurry… fading… No. Alex would not let himself pass out. He woozily tried to get to his feet, but immediately the pain shooting up his left leg stopped him. He started to army crawl away, his vision starting to go dark as he put pressure on his right arm. Fight through, fight through. Left arm... Right- clench teeth, wince… left arm… he somehow managed to slither around a corner and collapse against someone's trash.

Ow. Damage: left leg… thigh? Right ankle. Right hand, wrist, arm… ow. Head. Blurry vision. Blood. Cringe. Swearing…weaker… footsteps… no…

Blackness._

A/N. Fixed it:) Please review. The next update will be the next time I can get on a computer... Don't know when that will be. Constructive criticism would be much appreciated. And there might actually be some dialogue in the next chapter:)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N I fixed the first chapter! Yeah. So if you want to go back and read the new and improved version, it should be much easier. Aaannndd… Please review. I need all the advice I can get. The first chapter had 213 visits but only 6 reviews! Heck, flame if you want to! At least it's a review! Oh, and in the first chapter I said the weather was hot. He was in South Africa (had to make it english speaking) which is in the southern hemisphere. But, I set this during Alex's summer vacation, therefore making it winter in the southern hemisphere, so just pretend it works. Also, instead of a doctor it should be a PA, but I wanted his name to be Doctor Mok. So there.

Disclaimer: I (obviously) do not own Alex Rider. Now, on with the story!

~o.O.o~

The first thing he noticed was the itch. He wasn't exactly awake, but he wasn't fully asleep. He was in a sort of limbo, trapped in between. And he was itchy. He had the urge to scratch, but his half-awake/half-asleep limbs wouldn't follow commands. And the itch. It was awful! It was everywhere, like ants crawling over his skin. The closer he grew to conciousness, the more it irritated him, until he was was ready to scream.

At that moment, his eyes sluggishly opened. It was dark. The itch was gone. Huh. He blearily blinked until his eyes were adjusted. As he glanced around, he registered that he was in a hospital bed. Figures. He tried to remember how he got here and- oh. That's right. He closed his eyes again as it all came rushing back to him, making him dizzy. Saving that girl. Getting drugged. Knocking out a guard (with a chair!). Running up the stairs, climbing down the building. How far did he fall? His brain felt fuzzy and his thoughts were jumbled, but as he started to feel pain in his limbs, some of its usual clarity returned. He knew he had to have about a million casts on, and supressed a groan. He deduced that he had been on very strong painkillers, but they were starting to fade, if only just barely. Ouch. He hoped that they would supply him with something after he got released to take the edge off the pain.

Alex didn't think he could sit up, so he settled for lifting his head off the pillow and examing his surroundings. Curiously enough, he was not at St. Dominics. He could tell he was in a recovery ward, but there were only curtains seperating the patients. At St. Dominics, each patient had their own private room. His head flopped back down on the bed and he sighed, wishing there was a pillow. Alex's thoughts turned to his mission. He had as good as failed. He hadn't found the location of the lab, nor had he obtained any proof that Pearson was developing chemical weapons. He had blown his cover through his own stupid mistakes. And then, he just had to fall off the side of a building and get stuck im a hospital in wherever. It was pretty much a disaster. Sure, he had taken some files from the desk, but who knew what had happened to them? After all, he wasn't in St. Dominic's, he might very well have been in the hands of the enemy… but that didn't make any sense. They would have just left him to die. So… where was he?

The possibilities: he could be in a hospital in South Africa, after all, he had probably been in critical condition and not fit to travel back to London. He could be in a less prestigious London hospital… after all, it wasn't as if he could hide the fact that half his body was in a cast, they wouldn't need to take care of all that "classified" crap like when he was shot. Or, he could be an a mad scientist's lab to be tested on. After all, he had been in similar situations. OR… he could have been abducted by aliens for, uh… study of the human anatomy. After all… hey, it was possible, right? Alex was slowly drifting off. He snapped his eyes open to try and keep himself awake, but then figured he probably needed sleep anyway. He sighed and closed his eyes, resigning himself to find his location in the morning.

~o.O.o~

When Alex next awoke, John Crawley was at the foot of his bed. He groaned and sat up. His head was fuzzy again; he must have had another injection of painkillers. "What." It was meant to sound demanding, but his voice was croaky and he just sounded drugged up more than anything else.

"We would like to let you know that we found the files in the backpack. The information in them is more than enough to condemn Pearson. You did well." Alex almost rolled his eyes, but refrained because that wouldn't have been polite. Or it may have been to prevent himself from getting dizzy and then barfing on the floor.

"Debriefing?" Crawley sent a furtive glance to the back curtain.

"When you get back to London."

"And when will that be?"

"Seeing as how you'll have to be in a wheelchair-" Crawley stopped, seeing the look on Alex's face. "Well, there's really no other choice- Broken femur, ankle, fibula, hairline hip fracture- it's not as if you could just waltz out of here."

Alex couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that. Come on, duh. He suddenly felt the strong urge to face palm. He had fallen off the side of a building. So, yeah, he would need a wheelchair. For how long? He didn't want to ask, knowing that Crawley would never give him a straight answer, and he could just wait to ask a doctor. "No, I guess not. So… if this isn't London, where are we, exactly?" His words were slightly slurred, but he manged to get the point across. "Oh, quite a ways from London, I assure you." That was classic Crawley. Never a straight answer. Alex would've pressed for more information, but a thought occured to him.

"What kind of painkillers am I on? How long will they last?" He hoped he would be sent home with something a lot milder because he couldn't stand this woozy feeling. At that moment, a doctor walked in. Doctor… Mok, according to his nametag. He looked to be about forty years old, wearing a white lab coat that had seen better days. He had a slightly Asian look, but had bags under his eyes, suggesting that he had been on call the previous night. When he spoke, it was in lightly accented english.

"I need to give you a little check-over before you can leave." He angled his head in Crawley's direction. "Would you like him to stay?" Alex tried to look Crawley straight in the eyes, although his gaze was slightly off focus.

"No."

As he left, the doctor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You had quite a nasty fall there." Alex let a huff of air escape his lips. "Yeah." "You were out for four days after surgery, and in and out for the last three, though I doubt you would remember with all the medication you were on." Wow. What a waste of a week.

"Surgery?"

"There was quite a bit of internal bleeding, and some bones that we had to set right." Dr. Mok stood up and strode over to the other side of the… it wasn't necessarily a room, so… enclosed space. He grabbed a clipboard then made his way back to the chair. "It seems that your left femur is broken, along with your right fibula, ankle, wrist, and forearm. Also, a pelvic fracture, minor concussion, and internal bleeding." He sighed. "You'll be in a wheelchair for a while. The only reason you don't feel anything right now is the morphine we've been administering through IV." he gestured to Alex's left, and, sure enough, there was an IV thingy next to him.

"So… will I be prescribed any painkillers?" The docotor gave him a look that said 'no DUH' and proceeded to explain the painkillers and how often to take them. "But, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here, let's make sure you're okay to leave." Dr. Mok gave him some tests to do then helped him into a wheelchair and down to the radiology lab. Everything was fine. Or, as fine as it could be, given the circumstances. The doctor had given Alex a set of 'recovery rules' to follow, including:

A special diet consisting of vegetables, supplement pills, and more vegetables;

No getting out of the wheelchair, (bathroom trips exempt) except with help;

No thinking too hard (hooray for concussions!);

And sleep and eat a lot, among other things.

It almost sounded like the perfect lifestyle, if he didn't take into account the wheelchair. Oh, and the bi-weekly checkups. And the fact that he had several broken limbs and they just might hurt a little. And don't forget the fact that he couldn't go anywhere on his own. And, oops, forgot: school started in a week and a half! And he was in a wheelchair! With a broken… everyhing!

A nurse helped Alex change clothes (awkward much? It was a male nurse.) and them pushed him to where Crawley was waiting. Having signed all the necessary papers, he pushed Alex to a car, and after some work, got him in. Next was the airport. Then the airplane. Sigh. Another aiport, and another, until, finally, Alex found himself in a car heading home. He could only hope that Jack didn't crunch any more of his bones with an overzealous embrace. He was so ready to sleep in his own bed- wait. His bed was on the top floor. Alex swore softly. Life was not taking it easy on him.

~o.O.o~

A/N: kinda boring, I know. But I needed to write an explanation to his injuries. But at least there was dialogue! (even if it was crappy). Anyway. Since last chapter had six reviews, this time, I won't update unless I have… hmmm… eight to post the next chapter. And at least four have to be helpful and have constructive criticism. If your review is more than one paragraph, it counts as two. And, I'm not British, so if anyone wants to help me with Britishisms, that would be great.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack Starbright had been talking on the phone for an hour and a half. Rachel, her best friend from high school, had called, and Jack just couldn't resist talking to her. She had called in sick to work (very convincingly) and was now blabbing on to Rachel about that cute-guy-with-the-brown-hair-and-the-blue-eyes she went on a date with last night. And, that, oh, and they had another one set up for next week. Alex was paranoid about letting her go on dates with guys he didn't know, but he wasn't here, so she went.

Whenever Alex was gone she indulged herself in things he wouldn't let her get away with, like being a slob (ha! Like he was one to talk, just take a look at his room!), or watching 'boring American shows', or going on blind dates her friends set up (none of them hs turned out to be psycopathic killers like Alex had feared. Yet.). She told herself that once in a while it was good to get a break, but she could never convince herself. Everything was just… different when he was gone, and she found herself falling back into her slightly immature high-school girl personality.

Rachel was telling Jack about her two year old daughter when the doorbell rang. She rolled her eyes and got off the couch. "Just a sec, Ray, someone's at the door." She set the phone down and strode over to the entryway. She immediately squashed down the hope that it was Alex. After all, he would have given her a call beforehand. Composing herself, she gripped the handle and opened the door. She was shocked when she saw the sight in front of her.

It was _Alex. _In a _wheelchair._ Her heart twinged. Bruises mottled his features, and his right arm was in a sling, held across his chest. His skin had a sort of sickly tinge to it that comes from malnutrition. His left leg was in a cast and propped up straight in front of him, and a different section of his right leg was also in a cast. He was wearing clothes that were obviously not his, and a grocery bag sat on his lap.

"Jack?" He was grinning. She realized that she has missed that grin. Alex was like her little brother, and she was one of those older-sister-like types who realized, when her little brother returned, that she had missed the obnoxious, idiotic, spoiled brat of a kid she had come to love. Except Alex wasn't spoiled, or idiotic. It was kind of unnerving, actually.

"Could you, like, help me into the house? I'm kinda stuck here." All thoughts of her conversation with Rachel forgotten, she stepped forward- and thanked the heavens that there was only one step.

~o.O.o~

Alex was trying to sleep. It should have been easy, since he was on strong painkillers, but it wasn't pain keeping him awake. First things first: he was sleeping on the couch, since all of the bedrooms were located at the top a large staircase. It was not comfortable. And the temperature was a bit too hot for his liking. Alex sighed. He had been complaining a lot lately. Even if no one could tell, he'd been really negative the past while. Normally, he was sort of an "it-doesn't-matter-if-the-glass-is-half-full-or-half-empty-because-I'm-thirsty-and-I'm-going-to-drink-it-either-way" type of guy. Now, though, he was falling into a pessimistic way of thinking. It was hard not to. And, quite frankly, he really didn't care enough to try.

His senses were dulled because of the painkillers, and he couldn't feel his arms or legs. He supposed it was best because he couldn't feel the pain that would inevitably come, he almost wished he could feel them because it just didn't feel… right. His thoughts were slow, another side effect of the medicine. Alex sighed. School started in a week and a half. And he was in a wheelchair. It was hard enough just getting up the single step into his house- how was he going to survive?

~o.O.o~

Jack watched Alex drift off to sleep. He didn't notice her standing across the room, which was unusual. She frowned, then leaned against the wall, watching some more. Eventually, she turned and plodded up the stairs, her thoughts swirling.

~o.O.o~

"Alex Rider, tenth year, Brookland Comprehensive."

Layne Pearson smiled and twined his hands together.

"Bring him in."

~o.O.o~

A/N: Short. Sorry. I know you deserved more since I got TEN reviews (!) but I just can't write anything long. I won't beg for reviews this time, but they would be nice.

Challenges: What is the main plot?: school, Jack/home life, another mission, Alex gets tangled in something else, etc.

Brecon Beacons? Yes? No?

Any non-cliche ideas to liven this story up?

Any one thing to improve on?

Thanks, BYE=) (And... really quick- Disclaimer- I DO NOT OWN(And, oh yeah, review (long reviews would be nice(but short ones are fine too(ATTACK OF THE KILLER PARENTHESES!)))))


	4. Chapter 4

Alex groaned as light filtered through his eyelids.

"Jack, turn offa lights. 'M tired." He brought up his arm to rub the sleep from his eyes, instead hitting his cast on the nearby coffee table, sending the tv remote and a few magazines to the floor. It hurt.

Jack snorted. "Yeah, right. You just slept for..." she paused as she checked the time. "Fourteen hours." She bent over to pick up the magazines. "And looks like you missed breakfast _and _lunch. Tough luck, you'll have to wait for dinner." Jack grinned devilishly. She knew Alex couldn't reach any of the cupboards in his wheelchair. She set down the magazines then walked across the room. Nor could he reach the remote if she put it on top of the T.V.

"But Jack..."

"Sorry, places to go, people to see. I do have a life, you know." And with that, she grabbed her purse and left, leaving Alex stuck on the couch with no way to reach the remote on top of the telly… or his wheelchair on the other end of the room.

"Jack! Jack! Get back here you-" Alex stopped before he could say something he might regret- if only because Jack would find a way to get back at him by videotaping him talking in his sleep or something equally terrifying. He sighed, sent one last longing look at the remote, then reached across his body to grab his phone. He checked his messages, none of which he felt like replying to, then checked the time. 1:30. PM. Wow, Jack was right. Maybe he _should _have gotten up a little bit earlier. Actually, scratch that. He had just returned from a stressful mission. He deserved a little sleep, right? But then again, when had he ever gotten what he deserved? He deserved food. But that was in the kitchen, too high for him to reach. He deserved to watch T.V., but the remote was all the way on the other side of the room. Even if he wasn't feeling too lethargic to go get it, he couldn't anyway because his wheelchair was _also_ on the other side of the room. He deserved a break from MI6, but he had to go in to 'the bank' the next day for a debriefing. Bleh. With nothing better to do, and bored out of his mind, Alex drifted off to sleep.

Once in a while, Alex would get these really weird dreams. Normally, his dreams made no sense and had no relevance in his life whatsoever. But these dreams were some kind of weird. . . flashback, kinda. It was always the most random moments, too, like the time he had woken up in the middle of the night for a bowl of Apple Jacks.

It was like he was watching himself somehow, but he didn't have a body. His view was blurry, but whenever he tried to open his eyes a little wider or blink it away, he would wake up. He was having one of those dreams now.

He was watching himself try to hack into a computer. But, in his dream, he didn't feel any of the frustration or annoyance that went along with it. A girl walked in and memory-Alex turned his head. In his sleep, Alex didn't so much as _hear_ the conversation, but rather knew what was being said.

_Umm. . . Hello._ In his real life experience, the girl had cocked an eyebrow at his greeting, but Alex's dream self didn't have too great of vision.

_Hello. . . I guess._ She walked to the back of the school computer lab. Even in his dream, Alex knew that he looked sort of like a loser. Well, it was part of his cover. Not his fault. At the time, he had been embarrassed. He _hated_ meeting cute girls on missions that required him to act like a dork.

Memory Alex shut off the computer then walked out of the room. Dream Alex couldn't follow, and the image faded into nothingness.

Hours later, Alex blearily opened his eyes. The smell of food informed him that Jack was home. Oh, she was _so_gonna get it! Alex propped himself up on his non-broken arm and started shouting at Jack.

"JACK! You're so- so- just- urgh! It's- you're just- I-" having not been around Jack for three weeks, Alex was going to have to get used to her "no cursing" rule again.

He heard a faint laugh and "Calm down Alex!" from the kitchen and sighed.

"Just bring me my wheelchair. Please." Jack complied, and helped him off the couch.

Once Alex was settled, he gave Jack the evil eye. He opened his mouth to talk, but she cut him off.

"Alex, I think you should call Tom or have him over or something. . . ya know. . . let him know you're alive. . . and stuff. . ." He had been hoping to get out of doing that- he didn't want to go through this conversation again, like he had with Jack: 'Dude, what happened to you?' 'Fell. . .' No, he really wasn't looking forward to it. But Tom deserved to know none the less.

"Fine."

~o.O.o~

Alex couldn't reach the doorbell, so he knocked. Jack had decided that he should go see Tom in person, so she drove him a couple miles, wheeled him to the doorstep, and left. Which, in Alex's opinion wasn't the smartest thing to do. He didn't know if Tom was home, how long he would be there, if Tom's dog would attack him and break another limb. . . the possibilities were endless. Whatever the outcome, he was stranded here until Jack came to get him. No one came to the door, so he knocked again, swearing to himself that he would get revenge on Jack. He was about to pull out his phone to try and contact her when he heard someone noisily stomping down the stairs. Alex shoved his phone in his pocket and tried to look like he was actually happy to be there. . . easier said than done. And, even though he would never admit it, he was slightly nervous.

The door swung open.

At first, the boy inside just looked at Alex with bewilderment. Then- "Whoa, what happened to you? I haven't seen you in forever! Where've you been? Why the heck are you in a wheelchair? What- I-" He turned around and shouted into the house. "Tom! Alex is here!" He turned back to Alex.

"Hey, Tyler, long time no see. I know you're wondering. . . I. . . um. . . it's a long story." And one that Alex would have to hastily put together. He had _not _been planning on Tyler being there. Since Tom knew about Alex's, um, _job_, he didn't have to worry about thinking of a cover story. Tyler, though couldn't be told what really happened. Alex could see the worry in Tyler's eyes. Even though Tyler was one of his good friends, Alex didn't feel comfortable telling anyone about MI6. In fact, he hadn't even wanted to tell Tom, but Alex had needed his help to get into SCORPIA. . . which was probably not the brightest idea he ever had. But, oh well, you can't change the past, yadda yadda yadda.

He heard Tom thumping down the stairs and quickly devised a cover story. He reviewed it in his head; no loopholes, decent probability, all injuries accounted for, just enough implausibility to make it more believable. Good. He moved it to the back of his brain for later use.

When Alex saw the look on Tom's face, he almost felt guilty for not calling sooner. Alex could tell he was shocked. He glanced at Tyler, then back at Tom, conveying the message that the true explanation would have to wait.

Alex tilted his head back and shot Tom a quirky grin. "Uh, hi?" Tom just rolled his eyes and Tyler snorted.

~o.O.o~

After some awkward trying to get the wheelchair through the doors, Alex was rolled next to the couch. There were a few people at Tom's house, and all of them were sprawling on the couches or on the floor. They all looked at him expectantly.

Alex sighed. "I fourwheeled off a roof."

The room exploded.

~o.O.o~

Not literally, of course.

After hours of catching up and reliving his "fourwheeling mishap", Alex was feeling rejuvenated. He hadn't talked to any of his friends in a month, and he was just now realizing how much he liked hanging out with them.

"See ya, Sam," he called as Tom's last guest walked out the door. Tom walked back into the living area and sat across from Alex, all traces of a smile erased from his lips.

"Spill."

He didn't know where to start. He took a deep breath. The beginning sounded like a nice place.

"So. . . MI6 sent me to South Africa. Something about planning to overthrow us- Britain, that is- um, I was undercover as a kid from the town, met this girl. . ." Tom's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh?"

"I- no. Tom, shut up." Tom just smirked.

"So, tell me more about this girl."

"There's nothing to tell. She looked suspicious, so I followed her one day. . . she snuck into this guy's lab. I followed her, she heard me, had a conversation, got captured- me, not her- escaped, fell off a building. The end."

"That's it?" Tom looked a little disappointed that it had been such a hasty explanation, but Alex didn't feel like explaining the entire thing[1], so he told Tom he would just have to deal with it. They spent the next hour and a half talking about girls, playing Call of Duty (Alex sucked. His arm was in a cast, and his fingers wouldn't move), and insulting each other. It felt good just relaxing and hanging out with Tom, even if his painkillers were wearing off. By the time Jack returned to pick him up, he had a huge smile on his face and his thumbs were sore from playing to much X-box. The smile faded a little when it took Tom _and_ Jack five minutes to push him out the door, but oh well. Nothing he could do about that. He stayed in a good mood until Jack told him that he had better get to bed early, he didn't want to be late for the debriefing.

Just like that, the glass was half empty again.

~o.O.o~

A/N: Wow. Sorry about the long wait. I've had the first part of this typed up for like 3 weeks, but then forgot about it, until all of a sudden I was craving reviews. So, I procrastinated my history paper to write this for ya'll. You better appreciate it! And, I've actually been really busy... basketball, hanging out with the boy I like... (guess what! HE LIKES ME TOO!), and rererererereading my favoritest ever series: The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner. Go read them now. They are SSSOOOOO good.

Please give feedback! I would love to know what you want to happen next, what you hate about this story, what could make it better... and if you've read The Thief tell me so we can obsess over it together!

[1] Neither did I. Sorry:P


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